


Infected

by AmmoLovesJyron



Series: Soz Sam... [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addison is Sam's twin, But Dean's got it as usual, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Look Sam really sorry, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam's in pain, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Sisterfic, Stitches, Vomiting, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 20:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmmoLovesJyron/pseuds/AmmoLovesJyron
Summary: Basics: Addison and Sam are twins, but since Sam cried the night their mother was killed he’s the only one that received Azazel’s blood. When Dean and Addison turn up at Stanford asking him to help them find their dad, it doesn’t take long before Addison gets back into the swing of knowing her twin. Did- did that rhyme? Oops. Fml.Uh, so Sam gets hurt on a hunt, doesn't tell anyone, and very quickly pays for it.





	Infected

“Sam, Dean.”

Both of my brothers looked up when I spoke and I smiled, gesturing to one of the beds in the room.

“I’m going to bed. Keep it down.”

“Course.”

Dean nodded at me, but Sam wouldn’t meet my eyes. As his twin I knew this usually meant something was going on in his head but that time I left it, rolling my eyes. He’d either pranked me, or he was making notes in his head like the law student he used to be. Even now, after eighteen months, he still sometimes got stuck in his head.

 

Climbing under the duvet, I quickly made a barricade in the middle of the bed with the extra heavy blanket I’d found in the cupboard, making it tall so when Sam came to bed he wouldn’t try to cuddle. He was a cuddler; I wasn’t. I liked sleeping alone, having space, but so did Dean so whenever there were only two doubles available it was always me and Sam sharing. To be fair he did most of the driving and needed sleep, so I didn’t really mind taking one for the team on that one.

Anyway; Sam is a pain in the ass to share a bed with- he shifts, he kicks, he mumbles, and oh god… he farts. So. Damn. Much. It’s not like a minor _toot_ either, like the sound of his farts match his height- long, loud, slightly terrifying in the dark. Once in our early teens I’d punched Sam so he’d leave me alone in bed and he’d fallen, immediately bursting into tears since he was so shocked. Dad hadn’t been exactly loving or caring; he’d told Sam to man up and go back to sleep, so it was up to me and Dean to comfort him, ice his elbow and make sure he got back to sleep okay.

 

I’d been out for a little while when I felt the sheets shift, and Sam crawled into his side. I listened for a moment, trying to figure out why he was moving around a lot when he ripped a good one. I grimaced, burying my face into my pillow. What concerned me was when he didn’t even giggle, instead lying down straight away. I frowned, trying to go back to sleep. Dean was already sleeping in the other bed, and I realised he probably hadn’t heard Sam fart. When I heard Sam start deep breathing I relaxed, closing my eyes. Time to get some sleep before twin pushes over the blanket barricade.

 

I expected to see light outside when I woke up to someone moving around- usually the boys let me sleep in a little bit, or Sam gets up to night walk (Dean hates when he does that, for obvious reasons). When I realised a) it was pitch black and b) Sam was gone, I didn’t freak out. He usually got up since he doesn’t sleep well, but my twin senses were warning me. I sat up, rubbing my eye.

“Sam? Dean?”

When I didn’t get a reply I glanced to Dean’s bed, seeing he was sound asleep facing away from me. I knew he had a gun in his bedside table drawer and got out of bed, sneaking over and very carefully pulling it out. In doing that I saw Sam’s phone on the table and knew he was in the room somewhere still- it was weird that he didn’t respond when I called out for him, so I put the gun away and tried to figure out where someone as tall as Sam could be. There aren’t many hiding places for people of his height.

Then it hit me. The bathroom light was on. The door was open. But the light was on.

Time to investigate.

 

“Sammy?”

I gasped when I pushed the door open more to get through, cutting it short so I wouldn’t wake Dean up- even when we’re in trouble, waking Dean up is a death sentence. Sam was curled up in the corner of the tiny bathroom, leaning on the plastic shower door. He had tears streaking his cheeks, and I knelt beside him.

“Sam?”

“I- I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. C’mere.”

I reached for him and nearly fell to the ground when he leapt to hug me, grabbing his shoulders to steady us. We stayed attached for a moment, Sam burying his head into my shoulder, before his entire body shook and he pulled away from me to dry heave over the toilet. I frowned, brushing a hand through his hair before tying it up.

“You’re nauseous?”

He nodded, spitting as he rested his casted arm on the toilet rim. I rubbed his back, glancing at the bathroom door.

“Hang on two seconds.”

I managed to gently close the bathroom door so whatever was next wouldn’t wake up Dean, then went back to my twin who was gagging uncontrollably. I frowned, sitting on the floor beside his body hovering over the toilet bowl. Of the three of us, Sam was the one who got sick most often- food poisoning, a cold, the flu. You name it; Sam has probably had it by now. Dean and I joked it was because he went to Stanford, but both of us were aware his immune system was just compromised by the demon’s blood in him.

“Sam, you need to try and take deep breaths to ride out the nausea.”

I held the back of his shirt, trying to help him balance as he attempted to do what I’d told him to- but the gagging got between each breath, every time he inhaled was followed by a retch-y exhale. I felt his entire body tense up, his stomach contracting, before he threw up. I leaned away to avoid the smell, keeping my hand on his back. Sam kept getting sick for a good couple minutes, until the door opened and there stood a sleepy Dean.

“What’s goin’ on? Sam, Adds?”

 

“Sam’s sick,” I blurted, Sam glaring at me before he went back to puking. Dean grimaced, brushing a hand through his cropped hair.

“Right. Okay. Hmm… right. How sick is Sam, exactly.”

“See for yourself you dumbfuck,” I shot back, Dean rolling his eyes.

“Language short stack.”

He closed the bathroom door properly before bending down to help Sam sit back, resting his back on Dean’s knees. I reached for toilet paper, handing it to my twin in silence. Nothing needed to be said between us, as he wiped his mouth. The fever was raging through his entire body, and I used a wash cloth to put on the back of his neck, slightly damp but not enough to drip. Sam closed his eyes and leaned against Dean, taking the moment of peace. I listened to his breathing, looking up at the eldest of us.

“He can’t sleep in here.”

“No shit he can’t sleep in here,” Dean snapped. He frowned, looking down at Sam who was going green again as he hugged Dean’s legs. Dean didn’t say anything about that, instead choosing to feel our brother’s forehead for the fever I already knew was very present.

“Yeah he’s burning up; he needs to get to bed. Help me Addy.”

Dean stayed still since Sam was leaning on him, leaving it up to me to try and get him to stand.

“Hey bro, c’mon.”

Sam wrapped his arms around my neck, hanging on like a koala while I tried to stand. I held his sides, trying not to squeeze because I was aware of how nauseous he was. When I had a decent hold I hoisted us up, Sam still loosely hanging off me. I grimaced at Dean, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay c’mon Sasquatch.”

He took one of Sam’s arms, moving it to hang off his shoulder so we could work together carrying Sam’s huge frame. I was almost as tall as Dean, and Sam overtook both of us. I complained that he took most of the room in mom’s womb- only Sam ever laughed at that, even when Dad was around to laugh with us. We quickly learned that it was a touchy subject with Dad.

 

“Sammy, you need to stop growing.”

Dean and I hoisted Sam carefully on to his side of the bed, Sam groaning as he did his usual thing and rolled on to his stomach, using his arm to keep himself slightly raised. I sat down by his feet while Dean went to survey the damage in the bathroom, also figuring out if it was appendicitis or food poisoning. Sam whined breathily, burying his head into his pillow. I reached out to touch his back but he hissed, almost jumping away before I could really touch him. I frowned, snatching my hand back.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

“It- it’s nothing, I swear-“

“-fuck!”

Dean came barrelling out of butt-fuck nowhere (okay, the bathroom) and stormed over to me and Sam. For a second I thought he was going to start yelling at Sam but he didn’t- instead he just pulled up the back of Sam’s t-shirt. Sam cried out in pain, and I gasped.

“Fuck’s sake Sammy.”

Dean disappeared out the motel door with Baby’s keys and I yelled after him, Sam trying to sit up but I held him down.

“It’s okay Sam, stay down. He’ll be back, he’s not leaving.”

Sam was now crying into my leg, turned all the way around in bed, and I could see the huge gaping gashes on his back that Dean had been talking about. They were infected and an angry red around the edges. It didn’t help that Sam had been sweating and puking, so now they were even more agitated. I kept comforting Sam, looking at the door and internally begging for Dean to come back.

That sonofabitch better get his ass back in here soon, otherwise I’m going out and no one wants that. Especially not Dean.

 

Sam had fallen asleep on my leg when Dean finally came back, carrying bags in his arms. I glared, about to yell at him when he just pointed at Sam, finally asleep peacefully. I rolled my eyes, slipping Sam’s head off my leg to go over to my brother. He kept backing up until he hit a wall, and I held his shirt tightly in my fist.

“I can’t believe you just fucked off like that. Sam needed you, I needed you, and you just _left_. Wow, Dean-“

“-Addison-“

“-fuck, whatever you got had better be fucking important, otherwise I’m going to beat the shit out of you for real.”

“D-Dean?”

Sam’s voice cracked through my threat, and both Dean and I spun to look at our brother. He groaned, but seemed relieved to see Dean. Dean rushed over to be beside his bedside, brushing a hand through Sam’s long hair.

“Hey dude. I know you feel like shit, I’ve got some shit to fix it but it’s going to sting for a bit, okay?”

“Mmmmm… no, Dean, I-“

“-Sam…”

Dean made a noise of protest at Sam’s unhappiness but I shook my head, grabbing Dean’s arm.

“Wait.”

I sat on the bed, taking Sam’s hand in mine while I played with his fingers. He blinked at me, feverish but uninterested, and I met his gaze.

“You need to let Dean help you, okay? You could die, Sam- even now, with your psychic demon powers shit going on you could still die and no one wants that.”

Sam was miserable, watching me with eyes that could melt anyone’s heart- even our dad’s when Sam was like this, and dad was an ass to Sam sometimes.

“Sammy, talk to me.”

Dean was now close to us, edging closer when I decided not to glare at him. Sam looked up at him, nodding before snuggling back into my leg. I huffed, wanting to push him off but I had a soft spot for my stupid brother when he’s not feeling well. So Sam got to hug my leg while Dean grabbed the bags he’d dumped, bringing them over to the bed. Before I could really say anything he tossed the huge med pack at me and I glared, putting it on the bed to open it up.

“Stitches or nah?” I asked, just as Sam groaned.

“M’gonna puke.”

“Hold on to that thought,” Dean spoke, as he tucked Sam over the bed. Sam groaned, trying to curl back up but Dean wouldn’t let him, brushing a hand through our brother’s hair.

“Sam don’t,” Dean warned as Sam tried to move again. I held on to his shoulder, Dean grabbing the bucket he’d pulled out of the lock-picked cleaning cupboard in our room. We managed to get Sam sitting up and leaning against Dean’s shoulder so he wouldn’t puke on the floor, both of us heaving a sigh of relief when Sam began to calm down.

“Where does it hurt, Sammy?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head, focusing on his breathing. Dean rubbed his side and I rubbed the back of his neck in small circles, the two of us exchanging a look. Dean moved and I got ready to lay Sam on his stomach or his side so he’d be comfortable enough to sleep while Dean looked for the needle and thread for stitches. When he finally located them he nudged my shoulder and nodded, gesturing to our brother. I nodded, moving so that Sam couldn’t see Dean.

“Sammy hey-“

“-only Dean gets to call me that,” Sam murmured feverishly and I snorted, rolling my eyes.

“Samuel then. Dean’s gonna stitch you up and then you can go to sleep, okay? Get some rest and be ready to go in the morning?”

“No,” Sam groaned, covering his eyes with his arm. I noticed the scars on his arms from the hunts over the years- mine were pretty similar- and grabbed hold of him so I could make my twin look me in the eyes.

“Sam it’s stitches or it takes three months to heal, especially with our diet. Your choice.”

“Three months,” Sam shot back, and I raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t have that time, bro. We gotta help those innocent people, remember?”

“M’know, but… I just- m’tired, really tired. M’always so tired now, why can’t I just sleep?”

“If we don’t find them and help them now then we probably won’t find them alive.”

Dean’s voice was sharp and I saw him reach for the first of the gashes on Sam’s back. I grimaced, taking a breath and looking away from him to focus on Sam.

“Dean’s right, Sammy. All this for nothing, huh?”

“Shuddup,” Sam replied in his feverish state, groaning again as I realised Dean had started the stitches. Despite Sam’s crankiness I couldn’t help but be the comforting sister I always seemed to end up as whenever someone got injured or upset or sick- we can all see why; Dean likes to think he’s a macho man, while Sam sometimes just needs someone to cuddle with.

 

When Dean was certain he had taken good care of the stitches he stepped back, peeling off his rubber gloves and nodding at me.

“He’s good.”

“Thanks Doctor Dean,” I snorted, him chuckling too while he packed up his stuff and threw away the towel he’d been using as a barrier between the bedspread and Sam’s blood- it was now bloody and gross and it made me sad to think this was just another day in the hunter life.

While Dean was showering and cleaning up I helped Sam sit up, slipping his shirt back over his head while being careful of the stitches. Sam sharply inhaled through his nose, becoming green around the gills as he rested against the headboard. I grabbed the bucket just in time, plopping it on to his lap while he retched into his hand. I sighed, rubbing his back.

“DEAN!”

The shower stopped and Dean poked his head out of the bathroom, concern clear in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sam’s puking; can we get some meds do you think?”

“I’ll have a look.”

At that Sam began to puke violently, to the point that I could feel his pain and it made me wince.

“Sammy…”

“Only De’ can-“

“-whatever, dude. Just listen to me, okay? You need to calm down, it’s been a long night and you’re working yourself up.”

Dean closed the bathroom door, slipping back into the shower. The shower stopped and I felt Sam bury his head into my shoulder while he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re good man, you’re good,” I murmured, and Sam took a deep breath to focus.

“M’done… I think.”

He sat up properly as Dean appeared from the shower, taking Sam’s laptop out of his bag. Doing some googling, he sat at the table in his towel and I made gagging noises.

“Go and get dressed before I puke too; empty the bucket while you’re at it.”

“Dude.”

Dean went back into the bathroom and Sam made a low grunt at the back of his throat. I laughed, brushing a hand through his fringe.

“Try and get some sleep, we’ve still got a couple hours before we need to get going. Might even leave later, if Sammy’s still not feeling well.”

Dean’s voice rang through from the bathroom and I hummed.

“Should we get him something more for the infection? Like, something that’ll stop it flaring up?”

“There’s not a lot we can do Adds; Sammy’s tough, he’ll be fine.”

“I hope so. Last thing we need is a puking Sam in Baby.”

 

The first thing that filled my mind was panic when I woke up and it was bright outside, my eyes shooting open and I bolted upright to rush to grab my things.

“Sam, Dean wake up we overslept-“

“-Addison, chill. We’re good, I got us another night.”

Dean appeared from the bathroom, shirtless and he grabbed me by the shoulders, giving me a little shake.

“Where’s Sam?” I asked, glancing around with wide eyes. Dean grimaced, gesturing to the closed bathroom door.

“He woke me up because of a nightmare, don’t stress.”

“Is he okay?” I asked, glancing at the bathroom when we heard groaning. Dean shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, I mean-“

“-move.”

I shoved Dean to the side, barging into the bathroom.

My twin was curled back up beside the bath, the ice bucket we’d been using in case he puked during the night sitting next to him. He was red in the face and shaking uncontrollably, and I frowned.

“Oh, shit Sam. You’ve really done it this time, hey?”

“I think I should go to the hospital,” he murmured weakly.

When I looked at Dean, he just nodded.

 

Sam was sleeping soundly in the hospital bed while Dean paced the room, going back and forth between blaming himself and being angry. I watched him until I was dizzy and confused, instead focusing on Sam.

The infection had been a lot stronger than he’d let on; when the doctor came back, she’d been calm but her voice held underlying concern. The gashes were stitched correctly and were healing, but they’d been so infected it was borderline sepsis.

We’d caught it just in time.

The nurses were all fantastic and had cleaned out the wound again the best they could before using some sort of glue to stick my brother together, then following up with a bandage that wrapped up his entire torso. I could only watch with wide eyes while Dean sat in the corner, silently putting all the blame on himself for Sam’s condition. I knew Dean too well and I tried to reassure him it wasn’t his fault but he wasn’t even slightly interested in what I’d had to say; he’d just pulled out his phone and thanked me for being the voice of reason when Sam couldn’t be.

 

Sam continued to sleep for a solid six hours; when he woke up I honestly had been about ready to sleep myself. Dean had worried himself into a pit on the couch, curled up and snoring in the typical Winchester way.

“Adds?”

My head shot up and I smiled at my brother, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Hey dude. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I guess. Can I get some water?”

“Sure. Slow sips though, we’re not sure how your stomach will react and the doc doesn’t want you puking up the meds.”

“Shut up.”

I handed him the water and helped him drink, setting the cup back down.

“Your fever’s down,” I murmured. Sam regarded me with careful eyes, a frown making its way over his features.

“I don’t remember a lot of what happened, but Dean… is he okay?”

I glanced over at our older brother, snoring his ass off, and I smiled with a nod.

“Yeah, he’s okay. Worried himself to sleep, not your fault. He just cares.”

“I know.”

Sam yawned, going to stretch before I stopped him.

“Be careful, your back is glued instead of stitched.”

“What? Really?”

“Mm. Don’t worry, it’s tough glue, but the doc has said you need to take it easy for a while.”

“But-“

“-don’t even think about it, Sam. What happened was really serious, you could have died. Again.”

“Woah, don’t sugar coat it,” he tried to joke, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Too soon, right.”

 

I went for coffee and left my brothers to talk- Sam and I had always been open with our emotions, but Dean was just like dad and tended to bottle things up. Leaving Sam and Dean to talk meant Dean would hopefully open up a little- I knew he was scared for Sam, but he hadn’t really openly spoken up about it. If Dean was going to confess to anyone, it would be Sam. 100%.

 

The coffee machine down the hallway made fresh coffee that smelled incredible and I was impressed with it. As I walked down the hallway my phone began to vibrate in my pocket and I put down Dean’s cup to pull it out, choosing answer.

“Hey Bobby-“

“-Sam’s in hospital? What the hell did you idjits do this time?”

“Yeah, Sam’s in hospital. Me and Dean are with him. A hunt went sour a couple days ago, it’s a long story.”

“Kid, I got time.”

I winced.

Bobby was not happy.

 

Bobby was still yelling at me (and Dean, Sam too) when I got back to Sam’s room. Dean looked up from where Sam was napping, gesturing for me to be quiet. I turned down my volume, gesturing for Dean to come out of the room with me. Bobby was still going and I handed my phone to Dean, waving.

“Bobby, for you. I’ll sit with Sam.”

 

Luckily the puking had stopped and the doctor was happy with how fast Sam was healing. By day three of shitty hospital food and uncomfortable sleeping positions, Sam was talking and walking and laughing like he usually did.

That was when he was discharged to go _home_.

For us, home was the Impala. So that was where he went.

Usually we all sat in the front, bopping to music while Sam did research, but when Sam was let out he opted to sit in the backseat and nap, his huge body slung out over the seat. This meant while the music was still going Dean had the heart to turn it down a little so that Sam could catch up on the sleep he’d been missing.

 

The first hunt was about a week and a half after- a poltergeist, of all things, but we got it figured out and escaped relatively unharmed, Sam included.

Dean joked that Sam being unhurt was a first.

It was too soon.


End file.
